I pull out my watercolours
to try to paint what I’m feeling
Vibrant red stained by brown
Bright yellow blemished by grey clouds
But the blue, isn’t blue enough
No matter how much i try
Should mix in my tears
Or breathe in a sigh ?
My colours comes to life
Dripping onto my fingertips
As my hands sob onto the canvas
Puddles start to ebb and flow
The red is shocked by electrifying oranges
And seemlessly the ocher dances
The emotions glide through the water
Rippling in ever corner
My paintbrush soaks up the shadows hidden in
The umbra of my nights
The ones with which I put up a fight
The vista of shades become a philharmonic conversation
A babble of acute sensations
Dribbles of passionate abstractions
Mirroring my great sollitude
They wash out into the pot
and merge into a muc of liquidifyed spleen,
Gunky disquietude ready to be pored out of me
As i stain the paper and myself too
I giggle because now I really am blue
These stains stick to me
And now you can see
The true colour of my melancholy
A wee frustration or a slight,
can cause a response so abrupt
should your explosive fuse ignite,
and your composure then erupt,
spawning disquietude and fright,
our serenity to disrupt.
I didn't buy tickets today
for a pyrotechnics display.
Winds of honest scented
insistence glided my wings
through life’s many dramas.
Raw breezes fragrantly
touched my unsure skin
with soothing perfumes
promising my faith was
not errantly consumed.
I thought, go until I had it,
not go until the path quit
without signs I had tried.
I imagined a target future
sat for my eventual,
precisely aimed, bullseye.
That’s a notion I did covet,
even leaned it towards perfect.
If bottled, wind's cologne could
release sachets of peace to
waft serene blends upon and
through times of disquietude.
The sun has taken a day off,
sleeping in blankets of silver
while the Earth dances a slow pirouette,
like the venerable ballerina she is, on her axis.
I ponder the grayness
while thinking of haiku to pass the time,
wondering of what the sun dreams
during its times of solar slumber.
A rose awakens,
blooming with the kisses of dewdrops
caressing her brow.
The heavens softly weep.
I know not whether for joy or sorrow.
These tears of God are shed this morning,
but the land and I are cleansed and nourished.
The fabric of the sky is rent
by sudden streaks of violence
that shatter the peace of my reverie
and threaten to unsettle my soul.
Sabers of lightning
duel throughout the morning
to sate their anger.
Their fury sends fear to my heart’s threshold,
but it finds the door safely barred
by the still waters of the Spirit’s serenity,
keeping me untouched by disquietude.
I find lullabies in the thunder,
and the sleep of newborns follows
into a realm where the storm dissolves
within the calmness of God.
My timid heart is at a standstill
Quiet through her gentle whisper
She gazes my way with disquietude
Can this be?
She empathizes with my habitual dolor?
Are we one and the same?
Her beauty reflects her buried affliction
Her coming and going reflects her astuteness
Her downfall of fallacy attests to her reality
The persistence shines upon her personality
Truth prevails through her love for humanity
Cruel fate has twisted and bent your shape?
Your DNA has cast you as you are?
There is no way you can ever escape
The parental abuse which left a scar?
You're tired of ev'ry guru and preacher,
Who for self-serving reasons would mold you?
Who should you be? Don't look to a teacher,
Or what hubby or wifey has told you.
You must look inside to solve the riddle?
You are not something that you have to find
By seeking the answer in your middle.
Leave all of that disquietude behind.
Be whatever ever you want to be.
Do it for yourself, and confidently.
Cautions & portions
Obstruction & destruction
Rules & fools
Obligation & deprivation
Nervous & resurface
Alterations & expectations
Voiceless & choiceless
Isolation & seperation
Radical & fanatical
Uncertainty & disharmony
Solitude & disquietude
Do not in your spirit, let disquietude roam.
Close your ears, to each hour’s lies spoken.
Or, may discover your own brain is sadly just
a token.!
Your spirit looks for resentment, then your
soul becomes its home.
Satisfied poets are grateful for the works they
have done.
Be gentle as a cloud, for all poets here are of
different vissicitudes.
All of us living in varied global-latitudes, most have
enduring positive attitudes.
What is left, is to live, under the noonday sun?
8/16/20222
~2~
Do not in your spirit, let disquietude roam.
Close your ears, to each hour’s lies spoken.
Or, you won’t know this…but your heart is
verily broken!
Your spirit looks for resentment, then your
soul becomes its home.
Satisfied poets are grateful for what they have done.
Be gentle as a soft cloud, for all poets here are of
rain-bowed vicissitudes.
Living in varied global-latitudes,having mixed attitudes.
Forget not, gratefulness under God’s golden sun!
8/16/2022
~1~
Staying by the sea, now at sunset
With the light slowly fading into greyness
And the waters lying quiet
A peace fills me as never before
Dismal fears barred entry into the soul
Mind freed of all disquietude.
Through the soft whisper of waves,
A low sweet melody finds its way.
Listening to the gentle sibilance of the sea,
A new insight suddenly dawns on me~
None but we are to blame
For all our angry bickering
With all swirls and whirls underneath,
Is an abstruse calm in the deep.
In this continuum of flux
Is a permanence – abiding and perpetual.
Staying by the sea at sunset
With its still waters glimmering in twilight
And the stray clouds straggling in the sky,
My soul undulates with the slow rhythm of waves
And in me fills a calm submerging all vexations
And breaks a light, luminous and clear
A glimpse of a scintillating radiance – ethereal!
July.22.2022
Submitted for 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile.9.Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Mark Toney
This night wears on and carries me,
alone, through time that hangs in folds.
I struggle to accept or see
what happenings the future holds.
I dread to peek behind the drape
and find a day I can't escape,
when all that's right and pure and good
has disappeared from where it stood.
I think I'll wrap myself in wool
that blocks my sight and muffles sound
and wait for time to gently pull
me someplace where I can't be found.
Perhaps I'll see that all is well,
I didn't need my woolly shell,
and all that's pure and good and right
was there and waiting in the night.
Chants of Mortals
From the first cry out of the womb like a bay window
Life presents a combat zone
Though maternal and puny
The soul knew it was an eternal race
Tick-tack, tick-tack the race began
Moments in life unfolds like a lotus
Laying hold on the peduncle of hope
Each day breeds disquietude
From a child, to the springtime of life, to the withering age
Birth with unbeatable potentials
A time of unrest and a time of peace
A time of defeat and a time of victory
Embodies the vulnerabilities of life until the final breath
Standing in the doorway, somewhat dishabille,
the neighbor's cat had staked out my grill.
The night before we'd barbecued
some fish and fries and other food.
And now the smells lingering still,
perked up that puss like a pep pill.
At first, I heard disquietude
stalking my deck with attitude.
And in her eyes, a look to kill;
I gave her space with no ill-will.
Out of that grill flew mouse and brood.
What happened next? Cat came unglued.
February 12, 2021
my body fractures in eternal space;
extinguished is the lurid sun
blinded by the moonless
darkness and stars.
nestled in the transitional of poetic music
encircle by their muffled sounds
in unchanging existence
of breathless passion.
can you feel it
feel of surrender
surrendering to a flickering torch
embers warm cinders
crackle riding within.
hope doesn't fade, but falls upon my lap
with clenched hands upon
unhurried, no disquietude within passage
ignore the world
let flutter seduce the moonless night
and stars upon the dawn.
6/14/2020
Two words which once retained our feline friends
Or astronauts returning from the moon,
Now bear a threat which life itself suspends
As humankind is locked in a cocoon.
Restrained within the confines of our home
Deprived of freedom's customary range,
With meagre opportunities to roam,
We brace ourselves to undergo real change.
Yet breezes of fresh hope revive the air
As new priorities are gaining ground,
Regenerated hearts begin to care
And acts of generosity abound.
Though there will be disquietude and tears,
May we in faith surmount our present fears.
04.04.20
Quarantine Poems Poetry Contest -sponsored by Julie Leigh Rodeheaver
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